


Breathing in the night

by Elizabeth G (WhiteCloud)



Category: Shame (2011)
Genre: Ableism, Bromance to Romance, Bruce is Sissy's boyfriend, Caretaking, Childhood Trauma, Depression, Disabled Character, Evenings, Incest, James McAvoy - Freeform ×, Kitchen talks, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Poor Brandon, Quadriplegia, Sex Addiction, Suicide Attempt, Wheelchairs, split personality disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:07:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26596522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteCloud/pseuds/Elizabeth%20G
Summary: Being “normal” means everyday anguish for Brandon. He soothes himself that he is used to depression — even if he snaps, suicide is always an option. But one day his destiny shows mercifulness, presenting him a person who helps him to get distracted from his sex addiction. He has never had relationships with disabled people, so it’s a new and surprisingly interesting experience. Gradually, Brandon starts to realize that he’s met his love, what means his life has finally gained sense.
Relationships: James McAvoy/Brandon Sullivan
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've got an impression that despite such a good portrayal of mental suffering the film lacked something. I would've liked to see some new shade there, like love and hope, what would've refreshed and enriched the story with a new sense. I would like to see Brandon happy ;) So I decided he needed to meet a friend and a loved one, clever and kind enough to accept his disorder and surround him with peace. I thought it might’ve been a man with a severe disability, so Brandon's sex addiction would've been mute, at least in the beginning, allowing them to have some slow build.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jogging helps Brandon to manage his stress and, he wants to believe, his addiction, so he does it every day. He can't say from when exactly he has started to notice a strange man in a wheelchair, resting on the porch of a house Brandon usually passes. The man is "strange" indeed as he doesn't scare Brandon despite the wheelchair, and he doesn't loathe him in advance but winks at him every time, encouraging. And when one day Brandon, not bearing any hope for friendship, braves to stop and greet him, the conversation with the man suddenly doesn't make him feel like a wreck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could make Brandon meet an original character, but then I recalled the photo from James McAvoy's Instagram where he was so beautifully sleeping in the wheelchair. I decided James would be that attentive generous person for Brandon. ;) But it's OOC of course. And also, I thought it might’ve been cute to use another form of his name to underline that he has only some features of our superstar. So I dared to call the character Jamie - like jam, like honey :) Aw.

Brandon used to have that one strange moment during his evening run, making him forget the tension, which even a diligent work of his muscles sometimes was unable to reduce. Whether he was absorbed in his thoughts or fighting them away, his glance always took a second to lie on the man in a wheelchair, sitting in front of his house, not far from the sidewalk. He should have had his rest there, catching a gulp of fresh air and the warm glimpse of the sunset before going to sleep. 

Brandon didn't know how many times he'd passed through without noticing the stranger, but when he finally did notice him once, his eyes clung to his, curious and oddly calm. Awkward because of the contact and struggling to appear enthusiastic, Brandon had huskily waved a hand at him. The man had remained motionless, only winked at him with both eyes and smiled somehow cunningly. Soon they had been exchanging greetings every day.

Sometimes the man had watched him on the way back as well, and sometimes he’d disappeared into the house, to begin his night routine apparently. Decades ago Brandon had started to think that making any acquaintances not for sex or job was a terrifying thing, but it’s been months since he’d felt the glare of those pure eyes the first time, and the mild part of him knew that one day he would sacrifice his run to approach the stranger and finally say hi. 

It was warm and fresh spring evening when Brandon suddenly found strength to act, when the twitching in his chest prompted him that today he’d be comfortable to make a small talk. He turned his head and politely waved to the man as usual, and got a pleased blinking in answer. Then Brandon carefully slowed his pace. He just stood there on the pavement and breathed, and nodded to the man in question. It was obvious that the man had severe damage, and he wasn’t able to protect himself from a freak on the street. But he didn’t look worried. He raised his eyebrows slightly and replied with a nod as well. 

Brandon mastered a smile that should’ve looked nice — not creepy or anxious. He begged his inner self to stop criticizing. 

“Good evening,” he muttered. 

“It’s good, really,” the answer was tinkling and kind of mocking, yet not offending. 

“My name is Brandon.”

“Nice to meet you. I wanted to say it months ago. I’m sorry for not waving in response. I can move my arms actually, but it would’ve looked like this,” he pulled his arm to the side and shook a few times, showing Brandon that his hand lifelessly fell down the wrist, unable to straighten upwards. “You can call me Jamie.”

“It’s probably the way your friends call you?”

Those eyes stared at him in ironic disbelief as if projecting, “Friends? Seriously, man?” Brandon suppressed a laugh at that. It was weird to feel on the same page with someone. 

“You’re an athlete as I see, training every day.”

“No, I’m not, really. Running helps me to clear my mind. And it helps with tension in my body...”

"Tension?"

"Yeah..." was he really suddenly so close to whining? "It's hard to explain and it's not interesting. Not pleasant to hear. I’m sorry if I upset you. You’re here to have rest.” 

Those eyes peeked at him again, sparkling and offended, but in a humorous way. 

“So you’re looking at my wheelchair and thinking that you must be talking something funny and make me forget for a second that I’m paralyzed?”

“Umm, no,” Brandon let out, grinning widely, with his mouth only. He understood that it was a joke — a social game he usually hated so much, but just for now it felt somehow relieving. 

“Day by day I see how you’re running back and forth, but I’m not sad because you can do it and I don't. I don’t think about it, don’t compare us."

“A right thing to do I guess...”

“By the way, you shouldn’t be happy because there’s a man in a wheelchair in front of you, you’re free to be sad. And complain... You may not smile if you don’t want to. Happiness isn't everything. I think sadness is important as well. Every emotion is valuable and it's nice when you're able to have different ones. Tomorrow will be at least different, Brandon, if not better."

"Maybe."

"Personally, I don’t feel elevated, living through my injury. Not inspired to struggle. I’m feeling terrible some days... But some other days I'm happy.”

“I think it’s good,” Brandon commented after a pause, quite pleasant this time.

He got a little laughter in response.

“Well, I should go. My nurse won’t wait.” 

“Sure.”

“May you come to talk tomorrow as well? I’ll be glad. Really.”

“I can,” Brandon nodded but it looked more like a bow, so those eyebrows lifted again. 

“Maybe you felt awkward at one point. You don’t need to sit before me. I’m comfortable looking up when I need to meet another person’s eyes. It isn’t humiliating or something, I’m sure.”

“Okay.”

Jamie smiled at him with excessive politeness, not fitting his overall ironic manner. Then he blinked reassuringly, the same way he’d done all those days. Brandon was relieved to finally get acquainted and to discover that there was nothing to be afraid of. He put this relief into a chuckle, and then patted Jamie on the arm, wishing him goodnight. 

\---  
The nurse said he could find Jamie in the kitchen. Brandon used to come over since the months of acquaintance had bloomed into a firm friendship and more.

Jamie was sitting at the table, playing with his utensil — a metal fork with two rings, designed for the fingers. Brandon stood and watched a little how Jamie was pressing and swaying the fork between his feeble palms, trying to catch the ring with his index finger, and then to push in his thumb which he could slightly bend. Earlier, Brandon would have called it a struggle instead of a “playing”, but gradually he started to notice the smoothness and gracefulness in those paralyzed fingers, so watching them at work became rather satisfying. 

He stepped closer, pinching Jamie’s arm, which caused a soft “ouch”, then touched his hair, giving those long thick strands a few soothing caresses. 

“Good evening.”

“I hope it’s good for you, too.”

Brandon bit his lip at that. 

A plate with the small pieces of waffles had been placed on the table, evidently, by the nurse. There were also the pieces of apricot in another, and Jamie decided to go for them first. He was already done with the fork, holding it firmly while piercing the fruit, then slowly picking it up. The frail hand had been lingering in the air for quite a long time before Jamie lifted it smoothly and put the apricot right into his mouth. He didn’t drop it, and Brandon barely restrained the need to applaud. 

Jamie turned his head, feeling his attention. 

“Your eyes look red. Did you cry?” his words were met with a hard swallow. “You can tell me.”

“I want you to finish your meal first.”

“Okay… I can eat by myself but, you know, I don't mind if someone feeds me. I think I’ll enjoy it if you feed me for fun and not because of necessity. But if you think it’ll be awkward—” 

“No. Not at all. I’ve been thinking about it, too. Maybe I’ll be bad at it but I want to try.”

The answer was an encouraging smile. Brandon gently freed those fingers from the rings and took the fork by its handle. He pierced a waffle, smelling like condensed milk, and stopped breathing while holding the fork high and still. Once the edge of the waffle touched Jamie’s lips, he took the whole of it in his mouth. The move was expressive enough to make Brandon let go of the tension and burst into mild laughter. But he also couldn’t suppress the tears, sliding down his face in a sudden rush. There were only a few. Brandon swallowed them and rubbed his reddened face. 

“I’m glad I can finish the meal sooner today.”

Brandon noticed that Jamie’s hands were twitching, probably, without his knowing. 

He took one of them, and it seemed like to have a separate creature, trembling and gliding in his grip. 

"Is it okay? I know that you can't feel the touch here." 

"I can sense the weight. And I can see that you're holding me. I’m pleased just from looking at it."

"Good."

"I don't reject my body. It's still my limbs, even if they don't serve me like before or don't serve at all. And like I've said, I enjoy any touch when it's not for care only."

Brandon nodded quietly, meeting the blue gaze. He put his chin on the table then and dared to pull the numb wrist to his head, to make those fingers rest in his hair, not tugging or caressing, only giving the soothing feeling of presence. 

"Come on," Jamie nudged him with his voice. "Let's continue the dinner and finish it finally. I want to hear you." 

Brandon fed him silently but not in a rush. When the nurse came to wash the dishes Jamie dismissed him. Brandon hurried to the sink before he could've been stopped. The stream of water and the slipping of ceramic calmed him a little, although all the time he could feel the vigilant gaze, prickling his nape. 

"Drop the cleaning. Talk to me," Jamie sighed, almost pleading. 

Brandon wiped his hands dry and approached him, sitting close again, leaning towards the table. 

"I'm sorry for making you wait. It's just, I didn't want to— It's about my sister." 

Maybe, Jamie was trying to put a hand on his shoulder. He punched him in the elbow as a result, and Brandon grinned through newly emerging tears. 

"You know we've been living together for quite a long time. And I tried to be watchful after she, well—" 

"After." 

"Yes, after the hospital. But I've been feeling worse lately, and she didn't make it any better. I think I was spending too much time in the bathroom, too much even for me. She scolded that I had fallen into depression but ignored it. She grabbed me by the shoulders, as I remember. And I was naked. And oh, fuck..." 

"You fucked her." 

"Yes..." Brandon lowered his forehead on the table, overflowed with a hot rush. He shook helplessly, letting the tears spill. 

"I can't even reach you," Jamie complained softly. 

Brandon felt a slight nudge to his side, sharp but reassuring, grounding. He allowed himself to take that palm again, to wipe his tears, nuzzling in the pale freckled skin. Pressing against it firmly, he remembered his need to be careful. 

"I appreciate how you have used it as a napkin." 

Jamie didn't withdraw his hand, so Brandon lay his cheek on the sharp knuckles. He had asked once whether it was harmful to put a weight on the paralyzed limbs, and Jamie had convinced him that his body was starving for any kind of loving touch since it's not dead. "I'm not a corpse," he used to say. "Your pressure, your pinch, or your caress will warm my blood." 

"I'm glad I didn't hurt her. I didn't slap her, didn't yell," Brandon muttered, breathing unevenly. "I wailed in the bathroom when I took off the condom. She rushed inside and hugged me. She cried with me and begged not to suffer, not to blame myself and her. We were such wrecks..." 

"You think she regrets what she's done?" 

"Oh no, she doesn't. Silly Sissy..." Brandon grinned through the tears. His heart felt slightly lighter when he met that pure glance, resting on him like a soothing cold glove. "She doesn't comprehend her actions."

"You sound sure."

"It's not necessary for you to know, really."

"Tell me."

"An ugly family story."

"So?"

"Well... She started sleeping with guys in high school. I think she meant to show her love and support towards me. Because teachers and classmates caught me masturbating numerous times, and you can guess how terribly I was shamed. I think my parents regretted giving birth to me. But Sissy wanted to prove her love. Day by day the boys in my fucking class were discussing her breasts and vagina. I thought I'd strangle her. I told her that I hadn't the smallest need to fuck anybody around, every human being there made me want to vomit. I just needed to wank and forget! She was making my existence even more terrible. I told her that but she didn't understand, she only giggled in my face. I said to her that she's a little stupid bitch and I didn't want to see her anywhere near me. Then she understood. She started to sob that she loved me more than her life and she wouldn't bear if I pushed her away. She's a dependent person. Also, she likes to make people dependent on her, especially me." 

Brandon lifted his head, wondering whether Jamie was still listening. That attentive glance didn't leave him. It was time to sit up and to give his bony pillow, which was Jamie's palm, a little rest. Brandon wiped the skin with his sleeve, and shook that obedient limb a few times, and gave a haste kiss before gently withdrawing. His nerves were prickling by this time, and the aches in his crotch became dreadfully familiar, so he let his gaze wander towards the bathroom. 

"You're feeling upset. Do you need to wank? You can do that." 

"No," Brandon grinned from a sudden flow of gratefulness. Jamie has already known about his condition. He seemed open-minded and appreciative, so Brandon had got a twitch in his chest, prompting that he could trust Jamie, he could try to talk about the worst of his pains. He'd confessed and the conversation had gone very well, sweetened by sympathetic smiles and little tears. There was no need to hide now. Brandon gasped from relief once more. 

"You shouldn't feel bad about that. If you need to masturbate, just do it." 

"I can't." 

"I won't feel sad because you can masturbate and I can’t". 

"I understand." 

"Show me that monster." 

Brandon laughed. 

"No. Not now." 

Jamie gave him a mild smile. 

"You probably don't want to return, don't want to see her again." 

"Not today at least." 

"Well, what about staying overnight? My nurse will be preparing me for about an hour, so you'll have plenty of time for sexting and wanking in my bedroom." 

"In your bedroom?" 

"Sure. How often I have guests, do you think? I'd like to talk the whole night, I've missed it. But it's fine if you're scared to lie near a paralyzed body." 

"What? Why...?" 

"No, I'm not trying to get your compassion and excuses. My nephew had stopped here about two months ago, and there hadn't been any other appropriate place for him but my bedroom. The whole family had made a visit along with him, actually. So the next day he said that nightmares didn't let him sleep. In his dream, he was lying in bed with a corpse. A corpse... Sometimes it's even offensive. And also I was snoring. But he didn't push me on the side because he was so scared to touch me. Well, at least he admitted his frights and disgusts honestly. I do appreciate that." 

"I'm not scared of touching you," Brandon reassured after he'd failed to hide the awkward giggling. 

The nurse stood at the door, obviously reluctant to interrupt them. 

"Do I need to go to bed?" Jamie made a childish face at him. 

"If you want to." 

"I think I can help. I'd like to," Brandon tried hesitantly. He anticipated a skeptical reaction but the nurse didn't seem irritated by the intrusion. 

"It can be fun." 

"Don't show him too much or he may not return." 

"Oh, stop it," Brandon tugged at the brown strand. 

He was met with a playful wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't understood the reasons for Brandon's disorder, so in this story, I'm giving my version of how he could possibly get his addiction.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new experience is healing but it can't give an utter mental cure. Brandon still struggles. He is more and more often visited by his old companions: low self-esteem and suicidal thoughts. Meanwhile, Jamie has an accident that leads them to the hospital. If not to consider Jamie's anxiety and a few bruises, they are good. Brandon hopes for things to remain unchanged, but then Sissy finds out about Jamie and becomes furious, assuming that her brother has fallen to a terrible perversion. Despite Jamie's presence, Sissy spills out awful words about him and his disability. Brandon can't help but slaps her, and then he runs after her. Later that day, attempting to revenge Brandon, Sissy brings to his flat a notorious cop, claiming that he's her new beloved one.

Was it possible to become so empty and light that the wind would blow you away? 

Brandon vaguely wondered, following the wheelchair with his gaze. Jamie pushed the button on the armrest so it was moving forward by itself. They came on a bridge above the road, and that's when Brandon felt hypnotized, knocked out by the hits of wind and the roaring of traffic. 

He saw a picture of himself, propping the handrail of the bridge and almost vomiting from the hot despair, churning his stomach and brain. He'd known he wouldn't though because his goal had been to simply jump down and erase the endless misery and shame of his existence. 

Brandon stopped walking. His fingers had been holding the handrail just there. He'd been standing here alone, whole in a cold sweat and hardly breathing, struggling to find some courage in his forsaken soul. The opportunity had been given to him but he'd failed. He'd returned home, shaky and miserably happy to still have his life, to have his body undamaged, and the next morning he'd been trying to convince himself that nothing had happened, that he'd got drunk — from sex and wind. 

Jamie wheeled himself backward when he heard that the steps had ceased. Brandon should have looked anguished with his cheeks flushed and the mouth helplessly opened. Jamie peeked at him curiously, and then suddenly inquired, 

"What if we jump?" 

"What?" 

"We can fall from the bridge together and end our lives. Why not?" 

Brandon tried to answer something but vainly.

"I can't deal with the handrail alone, you should help. We'll leave the wheelchair here. You have to pick me up and throw my body over the handrail. Watch how I fall and crush my bones against the road, and then jump yourself." 

Brandon choked on a sigh. 

"Let's hope there won't be kids in the cars around us," Jamie seemed to finish mocking, and Brandon finally breathed out, 

"Man, you're crazy." 

He pushed the wheelchair forward, a little forcefully, to make Jamie flinch and giggle. After that Brandon made sure to go down the bridge quickly and to abandon his fears and inner tortures there, so they'll dissolve in the roar of nature and the city. He inhaled the coldness of the evening, almost sober now. Leisurely wheeling Jamie, Brandon rested his gaze on the chestnut hair that was changing its hue to ginger under the lanterns.

\---  
He was habitually running at this time, with a company he's got recently. He could leave Jamie at home — the phone was attached to the armrest of the wheelchair, so Jamie might have called if he needed something. But Jamie also liked speed, fresh air, and hanging out. Brandon decided it would’ve been an interesting additional task for him, to push the wheelchair ahead during his route. 

Jamie was quite heavy to drag but Brandon knew he would eventually school himself and become stronger. After a few months, he shouldn't have suffocated in reply to Jamie's cheerful demands, "Faster, Brandon! Come on! Go!" 

The weather seemed perfect today, so Brandon was going to throw the dark thoughts as far as he could and simply enjoy the moment. He might've even done it successfully before the abrupt hit which made him stop and stumble. The firm grip on the wheelchair had supported him so he didn't fall. But someone else did. 

"Oh god..." 

Brandon realized his failure within a second. Numb and shaky, he rushed to the body, helplessly sprawled on the pavement. There must've been some stone or a piece of trash he hadn't noticed in time, so the wheel had stuck and Jamie'd been immediately thrown away from his seat. 

Brandon didn't know what to do. His senses seemed to switch off. He caressed Jamie's shoulder carefully: the gesture couldn't help, but it was just an intuitive thing Brandon needed to do at first, to save his mind from shuddering. Jamie wasn't moaning from pain, at which Brandon felt relieved and equally concerned. Jamie could lose consciousness but at least he was breathing. Brandon reached under his shoulders to slowly turn him around. A few scratches stood out on his face along with the lines of peeled soiled skin. 

"It was fun," Jamie groaned, to show that he hadn’t fainted. 

A feeble smile softened his face but the eyes had stopped sparkling cheerfulness. They'd become a few shades darker, probably from the sudden exhaustion. Brandon poured excuses, fondling his head in hope that it wasn't terribly bruised. Jamie was watching him mildly before pointing out, 

"Well, yeah... You hit an invalid. But I'm fine, I guess. The ride was exciting anyway." 

"I'm sorry. I should've been more cautious," Brandon whispered, squeezing those weak, unnaturally crooked fingers. "Should I call an ambulance?" 

"No. Try to put me back on the chair, okay?" 

Brandon hesitated when he noticed a woman, huskily approaching them. She should have seen what happened. 

"Don't pick him up alone," the woman breathed out. "Please, let me help. I'm a nurse." 

Brandon nodded, and Jamie allowed her to touch him. Brandon grasped his shoulders, while the woman took his legs. They lifted him simultaneously, keeping in mind that Jamie could have some damage he didn't feel. 

"Okay. You should drive him to the hospital as soon as you can," she said after Jamie had been already seated. "It would be better to sanitize these scratches. And maybe find some blanket for him." 

They had thanked her before she waved with the encouraging "take care!". Brandon turned around, to meet the pair of clouded blue eyes. 

"At least I didn't wet my pants. It could've been awkward," Jamie muttered in direction of the disappearing shadow. 

"I'm sorry," Brandon tried again, still painfully flushed. He gently touched the mess of dark unruly hair, and suddenly those eyes sparkled at him reproachfully. 

"I'm not going to hospital." 

Jamie had been there too often — had been forced to after the car crash, Brandon thought. 

"You might've broken something. It could be a creak in the bone or a torn muscle. You just don't feel it". 

"I'd feel a headache, or frantic pulse, or sweating... You know that I don’t mind when people care about me. I appreciate it. But I like when the person… really cares. Not like the doctors, treating me like a doll, doing it just out of duty. Not like the people disgusted of me. I mean… not really disgusted. I need intimate care and it’s often too physical, physiological. Not everyone can handle. Even a generous person may feel deeply uncomfortable.” 

Brandon was glad that his addiction at least freed him from the fright of physical nudity. He used to be surrounded with nakedness, used to smell the skin and organs, to touch and taste the most private parts of the human body. 

He lowered his hand to Jamie's shoulder, rubbing it soothingly. He has already known which parts of that body weren't entirely paralyzed. He has indicated and memorized those parts after the days of experimenting, so interesting and joyful for them both. 

"Please," Brandon trailed off, taking his hand away from Jamie's shoulder and leaning against it with his forehead.

\---  
Jamie smiled briefly when Brandon kissed him, but it was an involuntary answer because almost immediately his tiredness returned, underlined by paleness and that rare wrinkle between the brows. 

Brandon glided a checkered blanket on Jamie's legs, worrying whether the paleness had come from nervousness, or it was his body handling the injury pain. Jamie had told that the doctors had exhausted him, so the first guess seemed more likely. But he could be both upset and wounded in the end. 

Brandon swallowed heavily, wheeling him along the corridor. He slowed down when noticed that Jamie was trying to catch his eyes. 

"May you manage my chair as long as we are here? I can press the button and give some sort of a handshake, but just today I think I'll feel better if pretend completely immobile. I want to be unresponsive. It sounds very weird probably..." 

"Well, when I'd worked at the office and there'd been some argument, I'd kept silence even knowing that my answer could save the project." 

"Yes. It's quite similar. Thank you." 

At the doctor's cabinet, Brandon huskily explained the situation. He began with the words "My partner", and the doctor couldn't keep his brows from rising. Brandon expected a witty comment from Jamie but it didn't come. No wonder, Brandon reminded himself, Jamie had warned he wanted to feel out-of-body. 

He was looking down and to the side, not showing any expression except tiredness. Brandon was glad he was the one to undress him. He wanted his hands to feel familiar and caring, to give Jamie all possible comfort. 

He couldn't help much when the actual check began. Jamie took it patiently, sitting there in his underwear only, waiting while the doctor was inspecting his exposed skin. Brandon let himself peer too, but as well as the doctor he didn't notice any fresh swellings, bruises, or deformations. 

Jamie kept his head tilted to the side. He should have listened when the doctor started questioning, but his answers went out short and emotionless. 

He was feeling like usual, no signs of stress. No headache. He hadn't used his arms to prevent the fall. He knew that it was the right decision. 

Brandon sighed. He hoped the sound wasn’t too audible, although it partly came out of relief. No serious damage seemed to be done, and even if the doctor missed something, Brandon would notice the wound soon, giving Jamie a massage before sleep or while bathing him in the morning. 

The check was currently over, that’s what cherished them both in the first place. Brandon slowly wheeled Jamie out of the cabinet. Merely from the look of those chestnut strands, lazily falling down the back of the chair, he could conclude that Jamie was finally having rest.

\---  
After the months of living with Jamie Brandon didn’t have to remind himself that his bones and muscles were extremely fragile. He took a firm grasp of the motionless leg to carefully lift it and place on his hip. The foot was pliable under his fingers, flexing leisurely as if thankful for being warmed after the hours of stillness. Jamie had said he didn’t feel pain, so Brandon could only imagine how much discomfort those chained muscles should have borne.

Jamie was watching him absent-mindedly when the sound of the ring came. They didn’t expect a nurse visit today. 

“Someone from a church? Or a salesman?” Jamie guessed. 

Brandon didn’t like guests in general, but a strange inner shiver made him get up and check. He was perplexed at first. Then he turned out to be stupid enough to let the guest in. She stopped in the living room, wearing her stylish black-and-white coat, crumping the red hat in the pale nervous hands. 

“Sissy,” Brandon shortly presented, already hating himself. 

Jamie looked at her in slight surprise, unaware of the coming catastrophe. 

“I didn’t tell you the address. Were you spying on me?” Brandon tried to distract her but Sissy just shook her head in his direction, not tearing her eyes away from Jamie.

“Of course I was. You’re constantly disappearing. You even gave up your job. I thought you might’ve been involved in some cult or became a drug dealer. Knowing you, I expected to see a drunk orgy here, but this…”

Her gaze clung to the wheelchair, then to the lifeless hands. From their position, she should have figured that Jamie wasn’t able to move them too, not only his legs. 

“Brandon…” she moaned, and Brandon had to turn away, to not see the trembling of her bitten lips. 

Once more he felt like a bad brother, failing to protect his little sister. Parents had been so mad at him for the cowardice. He was sixteen again, and his mother complained about how much they had done to make a decent man from him. They had been generous enough to buy him a nice car for his birthday, but then it became clear that Brandon had a fright of driving. His father was so disappointed. 

Brandon flinched at the sound of Jamie’s voice. He was trained to hear it even in his sleep.

“It’s your sis?” Jamie asked him — the undertone of worrying in the question. 

But Sissy sharply interrupted him as if aiming to make Brandon feel guilty. She didn’t want it actually, but her emotions were too feverish to focus. 

“Brandon, your tastes— I’m— I expected that you had fallen in something even more perverted than before. But… I’m shocked. Is he the one or you’re now a prostitute for the disabled?”

“Sissy, you’re not allowed to—”

She cut him off with the incredulous, tearful look. 

“You know, I was thinking that one day you would become so spoiled that I’d find you eating shit or drinking blood — anything to make you dirty enough to forget who you are. But… He...! He’s crippled, he can’t move, he doesn’t feel anything! You have sex with a fucking corpse!”

She sounded offensive. Jamie hated to be called a corpse more than everything. She could be mad at Brandon but it didn’t give her permission to hurt a person she didn’t even know. Jamie had been polite enough to not judge her during their conversations about Brandon’s childhood. She could have some respect, some caution, but instead, she had broken in and stroke Jamie so rudely.

Brandon wanted to explain those things to her. But he thought all this after hitting her, after that loud sound of a slap that made everything in the room squeeze from fright. He only grazed his fingers against her skin — was unable to hit anyone in general. But to his own anguish, he did it forcefully enough to make her shake and bend, covering her burning cheek. 

She sobbed, and stilled for a moment, and then trembled, clearly not wanting to face Brandon again. He was relieved that the house had finally become silent — she wasn’t hurting Jamie anymore. But he hadn’t come up with anything except violence, so the disgust towards himself was swelling his insides now, growing with every second and poisoning him to the point he couldn’t move or think anything adequate. 

He didn’t stop her when she rushed away. The front door had been slammed shut but he didn’t wince at that. He returned to his senses, only because Jamie’s voice had started to pour into his world of dumb pulsating pain. 

“Hey. Hey, Brandon. I hope she isn’t suicidal or something?”

And then Brandon ran forward. He stumbled before the door as, of course, the damn shameful ache had returned. He didn’t have time to pay attention. He just pulled the hand to his crouch, mercilessly clutching his genitals through the fabric and inwardly shouting at them to shut up. 

He spotted Sissy on the street and had literally chased her before the distance allowed him to grab at her shoulders and make her stop. She continued to cry silently, shivering and suffocating, but not trying to throw him away. 

“Guys, are you alright?” a passerby came over to them, eyeing both with vivid concern. 

Brandon could imagine how the scene should have looked from the side. He was holding Sissy desperately firmly, bending her down, heavily breathing into her nape. He should have looked aroused, and it wasn’t only emotional, because his damn erection was pressing into her. Sissy knew him well enough to not be scared — that was the only consolation he could think of at the moment.

"Yes," Sissy gasped, rubbing at her eyes. "It's my brother. We're... We were fighting but... it's fine, really. It's not serious. We're going home." 

Brandon took his hands away and made a few steps back, showing that he didn't intend to force her into anything. She was safe and could go on her own. The man was staring at him, undoubtedly memorizing his face, because Brandon now was looking like nobody else but a villain, a sexual predator. 

He had never raped anyone as far as he knew. The image of him abusing someone was too frightening, that's why he found paying for sex the most convenient. No one has become a victim of his perversion and no one would ever. He hadn’t ended his life only because he remembered that. 

"Come," Sissy gestured him to follow. He dropped his gaze to the pavement, not daring to touch her anymore and diligently keeping distance.

\---  
To Brandon’s relief, Jamie wasn’t offended by his disappearance. He messaged Brandon to let him know that he had invited the nurse for the evening so Brandon didn’t have to worry. Jamie even encouraged him to stay at his flat for tonight and look after Sissy because her behavior had seemed slightly “shaky”.

Brandon thanked him, glad at the thought that Jamie could care about himself today, so Brandon shouldn’t have called his sister every ten minutes to find out how was she and where, and then to guess whether she was lying or not. 

They had returned to the flat in silence. Sissy had shut herself in the bedroom and Brandon had sat at the table in the living room, immediately plunging into his computer. He knew they wouldn’t talk. They have never discussed their traumas or any important issues at all. Brandon didn’t feel that someday they could become close enough for a deep conversation, so just sitting there and quietly guarding her was enough. They were spending time together, divided by the walls, but still— Nobody dared to ask for more. 

He doubted being able to sleep today. Luckily, the porn sites helped him not to lose his mind. He binge-watched the videos one after another, and gradually his thoughts began to slip away, not focusing on the grief anymore. 

It was late evening, the time he used to prepare Jamie for sleep. He recalled that pleasant ache in his arms when he tugged at the transfer belt to drag Jamie from the wheelchair into the bed. It had been painful for his back at first, but soon that strain of muscles became welcomed, started to resemble a nice workout before sleep. Then he used to cover Jamie with blankets: one was for his body and the additional one just to warm his legs. Gradually, the routine began to make Brandon so terribly sleepy…

He found himself slumbering at the table, propping his chin with the already numb hands. His gaze lazily wandered to the screen where two women were using different fruits to stuff their vaginas. He thought he would pass out again when the sound of someone talking on the phone came from behind the front door. 

Sissy suddenly appeared in the room as if going to open. Without a single warning, she did so, and soon an unfamiliar man was standing in Brandon's living room. Brandon liked the fact he hadn’t recognized the guy, but it didn’t make him welcomed.

"Hi," the guest carelessly waved, passing by. Brandon didn't answer. 

It should've been Sissy's new boyfriend, one of them. He certainly didn't look decent but at least not as bad as some of his sister's exes. More so, his frame hinted at a possibility for Brandon to take him by the scruff and to throw out from the flat. Brandon wasn't hostile of course — he was just rude. 

Not bothering to make an introduction, Sissy simply led him to the bedroom and shut the door. Brandon put on the headphones, wondering only slightly about how much time it would take for the man to fuck her. What they would do on Brandon's fucking bed... 

The giggling behind the wall swiftly turned into the sloppy sounds, into the groans — his, not her. Then he seemed to be slamming into her with the short, ragged thrusts. Everything ended up very soon. The awkward silence had been swaying in the bedroom until Sissy broke it with the eloquent question — "That's all?!" There had to be some fuss, the husky breathing, and the rustling of fabric, and then the air was stricken by the sharp sound of a slap. 

Brandon was placing the headphones on the lowest shelf when the door fell open. Luckily, they both were already dressed up.

“Brandon!” Sissy moaned from the threshold.

She headed towards him, hastily blinking down the tears. He got up reluctantly, carrying the ugly feeling that he was now obliged to parent them. 

“He hit me!” his sister cried out. Maybe, she tried to push on his brother’s feelings, but it was stupid because he had always failed to protect her. He was a coward, only half of a man, that’s all.

“It’s your fault,” Brandon hissed in reply. 

Her boyfriend suddenly giggled. He should’ve understood what this all was about. And he probably didn’t genuinely care about the argument with Sissy, still standing by her side and boldly peering at Brandon.

“He raped me!” finally, she grasped her brother’s hand, begging for support, but he coldly took it away. 

“Report the police then.”

“Report to me,” the boyfriend mumbled with a smirk, shifting from foot to foot. 

They began to fight again. He had a small penis. She was a bitch. Old news, Brandon thought, retrieving to the table where his phone had started buzzing. Jamie sent him some new porn to watch, and Brandon forgot about all the trouble, answering him. 

\---  
About a week had passed before Brandon decided to visit his flat again. But maybe it would’ve been better not to go…

Sissy was the first he spotted in the kitchen. She was leaning against the wall with her head bent to her chest and her messy hair hiding her face. Brandon flinched. The next thing he noticed was the whiteness of the floor — clearly no blood. 

Something had to be off there though, so Brandon took the small steps towards her, while feverishly gazing around the room. The thing he was searching for had been waiting for him right on the kitchen table. Sissy had been careless enough not to throw the plastic bags into the trash, as well as to leave a few trails of white powder gleaming on the tabletop.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and then shook her as hard as she deserved. 

“How much did you take?!”

“Nothing!” Sissy seemed to wake up immediately. She recognized Brandon and started to flutter in his arms like a caught fish, drunkenly trying to hit him and get rid of the grip. “I did nothing wrong, Brandon! I swear!” she yelled it into his face, and he released her just to avoid the upcoming hysterics.

Sissy helplessly flopped back to the floor. She turned away from him, shivering, covering the reddened face, rapidly becoming damp with the tears. Brandon started to ache himself, but at the moment he couldn't do anything for lessening the tension. He left Sissy behind because there was something much more suspicious in the room or rather someone. The small dark figure was lying in the kitchen not far away from Sissy, nonchalantly curling against the stove. It should’ve been the boyfriend — Brandon had never bothered to ask his name.

He approached and grabbed the man’s shoulders nicely as well. There was no response, so Brandon turned him on his back a bit more carefully. Then he noticed the trickle of foam, running down that prickly cheek, and those reddened eyes which didn’t focus on him, frighteningly rolling backward.

“Fuck…” Brandon hastily commented. 

He jumped on his feet and rushed to the sink, hoping that the cold water might’ve been helpful. 

The boyfriend seemed to awake when Brandon touched his face with the wet towel. To his own surprise, Brandon even tried not to be forceful — to show the man he wasn’t about to suffocate him. He put the towel aside and took the glass of water. Then he finally shouted at that unfortunate person,

“Drink, fucker! Drink all of it!” 

The man couldn’t swallow properly at first. Brandon was too worried and irritated to give him time to adjust, so most of the liquid spilled on the floor. After a while, the man finally started to drink. Brandon let him rest a bit when he finished, whole wet from water, cold sweat, and tears. 

He was breathing heavily, the pupils running back and forth. Brandon knew that there wasn’t a point in conversation yet, so he grasped the man by the shoulders, struggling to lift him and drag towards the bathroom. Sissy might’ve helped but he had no desire to ask her, even considering it was her boyfriend and she should’ve sworn to love him till death. 

The man started fighting against the grip, in his haze probably scared that Brandon was going to drown him like a kitten. 

“Come on...!” Brandon hissed into his ear, like nothing else willing to hurry up and finish everything soon. 

He’s got a strange feeling of disgust, coming from touching this guy, pulsating in the places Brandon had laid his fingers on him as if he pressed them in some stinky mud. The guy stink indeed — the whole flat should’ve already absorbed the ugly mix of alcohol, cigarettes, unwashed body, sweat, and other things, close to urine and shit. But the point was that Brandon had never found those smells disgusting. Quite often he had enjoyed his visits to the cheap brothels where everything, from the furniture to human bodies, had been enveloped in the sickening filthiness.

The disgust couldn’t be personal either as Brandon was aware that he might’ve easily been in this situation too, if only his addiction made him drink and smoke instead of having sex.

They both weren’t the masters of their bodies and destinies. And Brandon couldn’t really blame the guy for sleeping with Sissy, and staining his bedsheets, and even for bringing cocaine. Just intuitively, he felt that something in the man was off. 

“Vomit the shit out. Right now!” Brandon croakily commanded, having forced him to kneel before the toilet.

He knew what he had to do. Holding his breath, Brandon shoved his fingers inside that slack mouth, pressing on the tongue. He was merciless enough to push his hand really far into the warm slickness, so the move triggered his ache. Vainly trying to fix that, Brandon stared at the mess of the dirty greasy hear and forced himself to imagine how the bastard had been molesting his sister. He was stressed and felt guilty, which worsened the tension so much. 

After an eternity of cursing himself, Brandon was grateful to finally hear the choking sounds and to feel the rush of the spew, falling on his hand. He pull it away to let the vomit go out freely. The man trembled from the spasm in his guts, reliving them profusely, nearly suffocating. 

Brandon made a step aside to give space. He decided it would be better to show the man that he wasn't under a threat — he was unwelcomed but safe. When the vomiting had finally subsided, the man slowly straightened up, exceedingly dizzy, lowering his head down.

"Gonna—" He bent over the toilet once more, choking, belching, and moaning from pain, until the mess started to pour out in pulsating flows. 

Brandon convinced himself to take a look at what was coming out from that stomach so wantonly, but the spew didn't say him much. It should've been some cheap shit from the street. Brandon brought a glass of water for him, to hand it over with a stern reminder — “drink everything”. He wouldn’t have been so cruel to Jamie and even to Sissy, but that guy had been pissing him off just from the beginning, and Brandon couldn't make himself believe there was some other way to talk to such a degenerate. Although, he's got a small pinch to his chest, prompting that the guy wasn't mean, or he wasn’t evil at least — he was loathsome from some point, and people had only worsened that, treating him like a filthy rat. 

The man returned him the glass, obviously careful not to break it, as if someone had threatened to beat him for that. Brandon finally flushed the toilet to lessen the stink, and then he tiredly demanded, "Go wash your mouth." 

The man was coughing above the sink but it seemed that nothing had left in him to go out. Brandon even found a crumb of peacefulness in watching him washing away all the sweat, spew, and snot. 

"Nobody's going to hurt you," Brandon assured, surprised at his politeness. "I'll take you back to the kitchen. You'll sit at the table and have more water until your insides force you to return here." 

He knew he should've called an ambulance instantly, and the comprehension that he hadn't done it filled him with guilt. But it was a thing he couldn't make today, suddenly stricken by the memories of his parents leaving him with a therapist, of the school first-aid cabinet where he'd been drugged after being bitten by the schoolmates, and of that desperately mean phrase Sissy had once thrown at him – "Go castrate yourself, Brandon!" 

Sometimes Brandon couldn't handle the doctors, just like Jamie. But along with that, he didn’t feel any desire to explain the cops why the hell he hadn’t called the 991 when the freak was writhing before him under clear overdose. 

The man looked fine though, at least from some optimistic or careless perspective. He'd been even able to sit on the chair and now was dumbly staring at the glass of cold water, put in front of his eyes as well as the packs of painkillers and laxatives. Brandon had thought his eyes were black — the dark colors suited the guy. But under the light of day he finally noticed they were fair, similar to Brandon's. 

"Brandon..." Sissy moaned from her corner, watching them with the mixed tint of worrying and dizziness. "How's your invalid...?" 

"Much better than you," Brandon grinned at her, exceedingly polite. 

The boyfriend cleared his throat, faintly grabbing the glass. Brandon expected him to drop it or to rush into the bathroom again, but after a few gulps the man suddenly groaned, "Thank you for pitying me." 

And he was gazing at Brandon. Not exactly but he meant to look at Brandon if only his sight weren't so wobbly. Brandon raised his brows at this first coherent thing he heard from him. 

"I wasn't always like that, by the way." 

The guy paused to take a grip of his head which should’ve been tearing apart by this time. Brandon thought he wouldn't care to give explanations, but with a bit of stumbling and suffocating, the speech went on, 

"I've never imagined growing up into that. I dreamed about helping people, you know. I wanted to put myself at risk for them. That was the reason to become a cop. And I was the best cop at my department. I fought corruption and stuff... I didn't pay attention that so much shit was going around and that that shit was about to possess me... I had my beautiful wife and my daughter and oh... Carol!" he suddenly cried out and dropped his head, crushing into sobbing. 

"U-huh," Brandon mused, bluntly staring at the tabletop. 

"Oh, shit..." Sissy quietly turned to the wall.


	3. Chapter 3

"Maybe I shouldn't keep my flat anymore... What if I don't make a new contract and stop paying rent? Sissy won't afford it on her waitress’s salary, so she'll be forced to move out. We both will lose a place for living, but at least I will be at peace – nobody will turn my corner into the drug cartel. I'll become homeless, and workless, and yours.”

Jamie laid his head on the back of the wheelchair, smiling to Brandon widely before shifting his gaze to the starry sky. 

“You are not workless,” he pointed out. “You are my caretaker. It’s important work.”

Brandon laughed into the evening air. When the weather and their health both showed mercifulness, they allowed themselves to have the slow careless walks after the runs.

“Surely more important than my office job,” he cheerfully admitted. 

"And about Sissy... I don't know, darling. Personally, I can't make myself be stern to my relatives. Even when they are irritated with me, I can feel that they care. I'm bad at being cruel." 

"Yes. You are good at being too kind," Brandon muttered and lowered himself on the knees to give Jamie a proper kiss. 

A dark thought lurked in the corner of his mind then. He recognized the ledge on the wall in a few steps ahead of them. He’d laid a woman against it once, not knowing anything about her except her name and eye color, just because those were right things to remember if you wanted to flatter someone. 

About a month he’d been naïve enough to assume that this life was left in the past. It didn’t. His addiction couldn’t evaporate, it has only changed. Brandon had sorrowfully realized his new condition after a few incidents when the sight of Jamie’s helpless, diseased nudity had caused his erection. 

He felt a similar sensation right now, just because he’d relaxed and caressed those frail unresponsive legs. 

“I want to be nice too,” he tearfully croaked into Jamie’s thigh. “I don’t want to become the person Sissy described.”

Jamie should’ve understood what he was talking about. Brandon had dared to confess to him. Besides, from the beginning, Jamie had known what a lustful jerk his boyfriend had been. But the touch of his feeble hand was never cruel.

“It okay,” Jamie murmured, gliding his knuckles across Brandon’s hair. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. It’s okay. You may feel sick, but I know you won’t harm me. I’m never frightened of you. It’s okay, Brandon. Brandon… Somebody else is here…”

He stopped holding Jamie’s shins. It wasn’t a mistake – some shadows moved behind their backs. Brandon couldn't do much about that. He straightened up cautiously to meet two men, which apparently tried to cut off his way back on the crowded street. 

Having grazed his gaze across those dark postures, he didn't think much and yelled for help. The hope was dim though. He recalled hearing a desperate cry of a woman once. Brandon hadn't seen her from behind the corner, but the situation had given him enough clues to assume that she was going to be bitten, and raped, and robbed. That evening Brandon had been returning home from the brothel, hollow and anguished. But it’s not that in other circumstances he would've been braver. Willing to free himself from the stress at any cost, he'd turned around and hurried backward, and tried to throw those screams out of his mind. Later in the subway, he'd decided it was too late for calling the police, and hopefully, someone else could've heard the woman and rush forward. 

He seemed to face the revenge now. 

"Romantic evening, huh?" one of the men demanded; his obnoxious grimace made Brandon shake.

"What do you want?" 

There were just two men, facing them from one side. Brandon glimpsed backward to find another side of the passage free for escape. He could make it alone, but there wasn't a way to maneuver the wheelchair so quickly. Jamie should've thought the same. He didn't make any sound, whole white, obediently waiting for his fate, without a chance to do anything for saving himself. Brandon couldn't protect him either. 

"What do I want? I know you, man. You fucked one of my buddies." 

Brandon flinched at this turn. That buddy could've been his former colleague or a salesman in a shop he usually attended. Or a whore. But he'd slept with men very rarely, out of exception, so it didn’t have sense. The man should've been mocking him, having decided that he's gay. 

Brandon got a feeling that "justice" wasn't a reason for the attack. The man didn't care that he'd kissed Jamie or slept with his acquaintance — he looked like a plain bastard, hanging out here in search of a victim. It could've been anybody. 

"You need money?" Brandon asked blankly, surprised at the lack of panic in his voice. He was just focused, but in a sick way. 

"I'm not in need." 

So he did it because of sadism. Brandon held his breath. It was a struggle to not close his eyes and start dissociate. There still were things he could do to improve their situation. He needed to stay here for Jamie. 

Brandon persuaded himself to not feel the strange, completely sick relief. He was an addict, a coward, and far from being a nice person, but he didn’t deserve to be bitten. Nobody deserved it. 

“You don’t touch him,” he demanded, putting his hand on the back of the wheelchair but not touching Jamie’s hair. His words sounded quiet but he didn’t care. He was ready to repeat them as many times as was needed. 

Jamie looked so stoned that one could assume he’d fallen into a stupor. Fortunately, from his position, Brandon was able to see those frightened winter eyes – looking straight and focused. Jamie should’ve been present; he should’ve been thinking about the rescue plan but couldn’t come up with anything, same as Brandon.

“Not interested in bloody invalids,” the man grumbled, and Brandon held back a sigh of relief. This point was tormenting him the most.

Having got that reassurance, he felt himself braver, nodding at the narrow passage in a few steps from them.

“Do it there. I don’t want him to see.”

The man showed all his teeth, slowly nodding. Even this small gesture looked obnoxious and predatory. 

\---  
Brandon could at least try to resist. There were only two men in from of him and they were not really big. Brandon might’ve put up a fight, try to prevent the pounding and humiliation. But he didn’t care about his dignity. And one of them could have a knife. Brandon could lose and put Jamie at risk. And also he just didn’t know how to fight. He’d never resisted when the boys bit him at school. 

He thought the torture would last the eternity. It didn’t take very long though. The men gradually lost interest and, having got his wallet and phone, they ran away, leaving him to lie in a pile of garbage. Brandon struggled to restore his breathing, but he remembered to listen carefully, whether there weren’t sounds of hitting or crushing. The bastards could easily betray their promise. Jamie was very strong and terribly brittle – even a fall from the wheelchair could break his bones and cause the lethal bleeding inside his body.

After the moment of silence, he heard that the wheels were spinning, unmistakably getting closer. 

“Oh, Brandon… How are you?..” the voice was hoarse and heavily trembling, so Brandon didn’t recognize it immediately as Jamie’s.

He managed to open both of his eyes. They sting but didn’t seem to be bruised. 

“Don’t know…” he exhaled into the air, filled with a thick smell of trash.

He tried to listen to his body but it became numb from shock, which was good, just for now. The thing Brandon knew for sure was that he couldn’t get up to wheel Jamie away from this corner of horror. His head was spinning badly, so even if he made his legs work, the dizziness would cause him to fall down. He couldn’t understand whether some of his limbs were broken. Rather not, because the pain was sharp and annoying but not terrible. 

He had to breathe very carefully though as every move of the lungs made his ribs scream. He felt exhausted and was about to pass out when Jamie’s voice revived his consciousness. 

“He can talk but he doesn’t know what’s precisely damaged. He’s got a traumatic shock. I don’t see blood. Unfortunately, I can’t provide first aid, I’m paralyzed. Good…”

He should’ve called the ambulance. Brandon turned his head to have a better look. There wasn’t a lantern nearby, and the metal gleaming of the wheels made it hard to focus, but at least he could distinguish that Jamie was rubbing his face. Brandon stared at his palm, just because it seemed warmly familiar – fair and plump, the fingers unnaturally crooked. 

“They did nothing to me,” Jamie answered his silent question. “They didn’t even look at me. The phone was just on my armrest. They were in a hurry or maybe simply disgusted to touch me. I’m sorry, I could call the police earlier but I thought, if they’d heard my voice, one of them could return and make me quiet.” 

“I’m glad you didn’t do that.”

Jamie nodded weakly. Brandon noticed how his eyes had sparkled before he lowered his head. Jamie had done everything that was manageable for him, and now he finally could let the grief flow out, crushing into shaky sobs. 

\---  
They arrived at the hospital together but Jamie, to his distress, needed to leave soon for doing his nightly routine. He wanted to be there and make sure Brandon was okay, but meanwhile, his exhausted body was pleading to be relieved, and massaged, and bathed. The next day he couldn’t stay long enough too, due to the tormenting headache, dangerous in his state of health.  
Fortunately, on the morning of the third day, Brandon was allowed to return home. He had warned Jamie on the phone, and the answer was a cry of relief. 

The net of the orange sun rays had met him in the hallway, and then the quiet spinning of the wheels was added to the morning melody. Jamie found him there, watched how he’d carefully taken off his shoes, trying not to disturb the wounds. Brandon straightened up, and greeted him, and lowered on the knee to hug him. Jamie tickled his shoulder with the warm “it’s you”, cautious enough to show Brandon his eyes but not to shade the tears. 

Brandon recognized the guy who was now caring for Jamie. They had held the nice little conversations before, so the firm handshake was sincere. The guy raised his brows at the news that the attackers hadn’t been caught yet, although Brandon and Jamie had given so thorough description. 

“I think it’s because you figure here as a gay couple. That makes them hesitate. But they will arrest the bastards in the end because you are white.”

Brandon couldn’t decide if it was polite to smile on such a joke so he just nodded. They prepared some meals and sweets to celebrate Brandon’s return, and when the darkness had come, the nurse guessed the reason for Brandon’s shakiness.

“I closed the door and the windows. I’m going to check the locks now. And I’m staying with you, guys, in the next bedroom. You can call whenever you want.”

The gloom of the night gradually dissolved. Brandon couldn’t understand if he’d been sleeping at all. Jamie’s dreams were brittle as well. He woke up soon after Brandon, wished him good morning, and attempted to smile to give comfort. Brandon would’ve felt much better without his injury.

He managed to pull Jamie into the sitting position and secured the belt under his chest to drug him further onto the wheelchair. After a try to shift him Brandon’s ribs seemed to crumble from pain. He cried out and flinched away, helplessly embracing himself. The nurse rushed into the bedroom within seconds, so Brandon had to let him do all the work. 

His ribs weren’t broken. He’s got bandage because of the creaks on two of them. Jamie had warned him about being too heavy for picking up, but Brandon only wanted his old cozy habits back.

After the bath, he tried to gently squeeze the dry muscles of those legs. Jamie was gazing at his face warily, sorrowfully. He should’ve been studying the pattern of bruises. Having clung to that pure childish eyes, Brandon let himself forget their grief. Then he lifted Jamie’s leg into the air, attempting to bend it at the knee, and the pain crushed him again. 

\---  
The first week of recovery came to an end. Brandon was heading to the meeting, not anticipating any results from it though. The attackers hadn’t been caught yet, so Sissy had advised Brandon to talk with her boyfriend who appeared to be a cop from Scotland. He’d claimed to have a business trip in the United States. 

A business trip… Apparently, the man had been fired and accused in some crime, probably the drug dealing, so he’d risked becoming a runaway. Was it true or not, Brandon couldn’t care less. 

He reached the agreed place and looked around, searching that unfortunate man, and then he stumbled,

“The fuck…”

He couldn’t decide between bizarre and ridiculous. It should’ve been a mistake. Brandon turned around once more, peering into the faces of passers-by. His sight hadn’t failed him though.

Those features were the exact ones he’d seen two times, but today for some peculiar reason they were smoothed and colored with makeup. The job had been done quite carelessly, so Brandon couldn’t confuse the guy with a woman. At some degree, the man looked even more rudely than before, although altogether with the makeup and curly wig he was confidently wearing woman’s shoes, stockings, and glamorous coat. 

Brandon intuitively felt hesitant to demand straightforwardly “What the hell?!” He suddenly decided that the neutral tone would be safer.

“Hi.”

The man raised his head and stared with the strange, almost flattering expression of attentiveness and care. It had nothing in common with his sister’s stinky boyfriend. “By the way, he’s got a name,” Sissy had said pointedly, grasping Brandon at the threshold. “It’s Bruce.”

“Hello,” the weirdo before him answered politely and pulled his hand towards Brandon. 

Out of caution, Brandon took it and shook slightly, like he would’ve done with a woman or even a lady. “A freak show,” he thought. 

"I'm Carol," the man smiled, lowering his other hand on Brandon's, to give a few soothing pats. His gaze didn’t leave Brandon's bruised jaw and cheekbones. "You should be looking for my husband. He was willing to meet you, but there was some news about that missing girl, with that interesting name... I believe it's Sissy." 

"I heard about that," Brandon bit his lip, preventing himself from saying what he had really intended. 

"My husband decided to interview some volunteers once more and also he'd found a person of interest... I can't say who it is for now. But don't feel abandoned. He wants to help you as well, he won't let this case be unnoticed, you may trust me. That's why he asked me to meet you. He also asked me to encourage you." 

Brandon was silently watching the mimics of that face. The black lines on his eyes looked too thick and smeared, and, considering the stubble on the chin, he didn't even bother to shave. 

Brandon had nothing to do with the freak, but when they started to walk, it gradually became hard to persuade himself that Bruce was mocking him. That transvestite was talking much, in a manner Brandon had never heard from Bruce, in a different voice and accent. Brandon didn't believe for a second that that cop could be such a nice actor. 

It stopped looking like a masquerade. It looked like the man was ill, and Brandon got to talk with another person while Bruce had probably lost consciousness. His second half, Carol, continued to chat almost cheerfully. She tried to improve his mood, reassuring that "it's okay", "it'll be alright", and she even accidentally grabbed Brandon's elbow after he'd answered with a small smile. She didn't show any interest in him though, so much excited by her husband's generosity. 

"I know there's a lot of corruption in the police department. Unfortunately so! My poor Bruce faces it every day. But he won't give up. Charity is his life. People in our city know that they can go to him no matter what — he'll do everything possible to help!" 

Carol should've been the real person, Bruce's ex-wife as Brandon could gather. Bruce had been talking about her while crying over him and Sissy. It looked like he divorced her officially and not at all mentally. Brandon was too far from admiring or even tolerating Bruce, but nevertheless, he doubted that this Carol was the pure creation of Bruce's mind — his not existing excellent wife. Most likely, Bruce was reviving his wife as she'd been before their divorce.

Their relationship seemed to be great once — Carol had complete faith in Bruce and, maybe, he never meant to fool her. "I wasn't always like that," the freak had said to him on the verge of tears.

Brandon couldn't ponder about it further, paying attention at the glares some folks were throwing upon Carol. She looked awful, way worse than an average transvestite. So Brandon's adventures could get another turn now, ending up on him being pounded again, altogether with his grotesque companion. 

But this time he would avoid it. He didn't see anything heroic in his standing up for Jamie. He loved Jamie, at first. At second, Jamie had a severe disability and Brandon, being a coward, wasn't a complete bastard who could leave him alone in such danger. Meanwhile physically Carol was doing alright and Brandon had nothing to do with her. So he was going to escape the danger this time, even if it meant risking her life. If there would be the danger, of course. 

Finally, Carol said she wanted to return home, to prepare a nice dinner for Bruce. Brandon insisted on accompanying her in the subway. He felt more at ease, leaving her just before the house she claimed to live in. 

"Well, darling, don't lose hope. There are always nice things at the end," she then gave her goodbye and patted him on the arm the last time. 

Brandon watched her, biting his lip, so unsure whether it was fine to let her stay on her own.

\---  
"You may imagine I'm a cat. A very big blue-eyed cat."

Sissy gulped her gloom down and grasped a plastic bowl, tucked in the folds of a checkered blanket. She took a fork to pierce the slices of cucumber and cheese, restrained herself from making a grimace, then slowly pulled the slices towards Jamie's face. He lifted his head forward and hastily bit. Sissy turned her head to the side, what should've been an attempt to hide the nervous blush. 

"Pretty salad, by the way," she muttered under her breath, and it sounded more bashfully than grumpy. 

"Thanks. I've made it myself." 

"Really?" she laid a doubtful gaze at the dish — the esthetic combination of cucumbers, tomatoes, eggs, chicken, and cheese; all dressed with the buttermilk. 

"Yes. I was doing it slowly and confidently." 

Sissy didn't answer, only pursed her lips in a faint smile. She’d thought that kneeling before Jamie would be too awkward. It looked romantic when Brandon did it; romance was not for her. But the pose didn’t ruin her trousers much, thanks to the blanket, and it didn't strain her weak back. 

Jamie gave her smile as grateful as he could muster.

“You don’t have to thank me. It’s not your fault that you’re slow.”

“I value the pleasure of being cared for. I’d learned to value it,” Jamie answered softly. He began to say something else when his words were interrupted by the loud fart. “Oh, my body knows where it’s time to underline things. Brandon, I’m sorry if you’re disappointed. I was going to impress your sister in a nice way.”

“Don’t care about the impression,” Brandon yawned from his spot on the blanket. He was using the wheel as the prop for his pillow. “And you know that I like farting. It’s kinky.”

Sissy watched them with empty eyes. 

It was warm and lightly day, so inwardly Brandon once more thanked Jamie for the picnic idea, although he was perplexed at the offer to invite Sissy. A family picnic... But they were never a family.

"Well, I'm sorry, Sissy. Really. I'm sad that you're sad. You would’ve been happier if your boyfriend could join us." 

Jamie’s words hung in the air. Maybe they could keep the reminder unspoken, but Brandon had suffered enough because of his habit to avoid difficult topics, so while Sissy lowered her head to hide the bitterness, he put his hands on Jamie's legs, giving a few soothing, encouraging strokes. He knew Jamie didn't feel it, but the massage was therapeutic for the exhausted limbs, so he used to warm them every free minute. 

Sissy's fringe clearly needed a cut. It wasn't just greasy but also soaked in sweat and tears.

"Much worse things happen to people," Brandon tried to soften the sadness. The try was awkward and it only exposed how less he knew about his sister. "At least Bruce didn't suffer."

Sissy lifted her head slightly; her eyes showed nothing but darkness and red vessels. 

"Of course he fucking suffered!" she cried out. "He put his neck in the fucking noose!" 

Brandon couldn't find what to answer. He was hit by the inner shiver, reminding him of that night on the bridge — his hands numb and cold against the rails. The wind had been blowing so fiercely as if wished to help him fall.

Jamie didn't come up with anything either. Brandon knew that his nurse had told him to die. He'd recommended it to Jamie, more than once. Not the present nurse, of course. Jamie had changed them a few times after that. But he even had friends and relatives, telling him that they would better die than being at his place. Not that he'd never thought about suicide himself. 

"He didn't die though," Brandon hissed. "You said he'd been taken from the noose and brought to the hospital." 

"Yes, but the suffocating damaged his brain and now he behaves like a fucking infant!" 

"His daughter showed up, you'd said. She decided to take care of him." 

Sissy opened her mouth to argue when her gaze slipped down his body. 

"Brandon!" she moaned reproachfully, tired and disgusted but not in the least bewildered. He touched his lower abdomen, not needing to look at himself to know that his tension became visible. 

"I need to smoke," Sissy croaked, standing up shakily. 

She went away far enough for not hearing them, and then Brandon smiled to Jamie in gentle apology. He was sure Jamie wouldn't judge, so no shame stopped him from grabbing a blanket and throwing it above his and Jamie's knees. From aside it looked like Brandon was attentively fixing the wheelchair. But he was fixing something else and Jamie giggled at the realization.

Having finished soundlessly, Brandon laid down on the grass and fully covered his body with the cozy fabric, soothing his lower abdomen and genitals, twitching with strain, and pain, and relief. 

Jamie gave him time to rest before reminding about his presence, 

"I'd like to sit on the grass." 

Brandon still couldn't lift him with his damaged ribs, but luckily the nurse had come with them today, to chill with his girlfriend in the wood. Brandon waved him widely. The guy approached them with a thankful grin, probably because the girlfriend was watching him proudly, ensured that his job was very important and needed. 

Jamie had been already sitting on the ground when Sissy returned to them. He pulled his arms behind his back and supported himself, which was a nice exercise. His upper body was too heavy for him though, so Brandon always held the hand on his back to keep the muscles from hurting.

“You may hold me too if you want,” Jamie made an exceedingly adorable face, so Sissy wrinkled her nose just a little bit before complying.

They both had their hands on Jamie’s upper back, and maybe that contact poured mildness into Brandon, making him sigh,

“Listen, I understand he was important for you. I heard how you said on the phone that you loved him more than your life.”

Sissy huffed, then rubbed at her wet lashes, forgetful about the smudged makeup. 

“I tell that to all my men. But it doesn’t mean I’m a liar. When I’m telling it, I’m feeling it.” 

“I know,” Brandon answered quietly. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Okay…”

“I’m so alone and so confused… I shouldn’t have treated your boyfriend so badly. I never wanted to hurt you. And I didn’t want to say all those mean things in his address. I didn’t know him at all…”

“Hug,” Jamie asked them, and they suddenly obeyed.

Brandon had forgotten how it felt to have her in his arms, clinging to his chest, so emotional but cautious about his wound. It seemed he’d never held his sister like that, out of gentleness and not because she was traumatized or in her moods. 

“Say you love me,” she sniffled into his bondage, covered with the cotton of the shirt. 

“I do.”

Overwhelmed by the moment, they didn’t notice how their hands had long ago slipped from Jamie’s back. The sound of the fallen body made them freeze and turn.

“I tried hard to be still and not ruin the scene,” Jamie muttered, sprawled on the blanket. The joyful apology warmed his voice. “Sorry for interrupting, guys. I’m comfortable like this, I promise.”

Brandon held out his hand to pinch him gently on the cheek. It looked like he was teasing a baby. But when the person felt right, Jamie didn’t mind to be a baby sometimes. 

\---  
“I didn’t come up with anything yet. May you advise something?”

“Well, I can recommend an English breakfast. It’s our main dish today,” the waitress then turned to Brandon with an expression of awkward politeness. “If your companion is allowed to eat fatty meals.”

Brandon cleared his throat, hardly suppressing the laughter. He peeked at his lover who had lowered his head particularly humbly.

“I don’t know. Jamie, are you… allowed to… eat fatty meals?”

“Thank you for caring about my bowel so much. I am. And also I’m the one paying for us both. Because in addition to state aid I also have a job and a salary. But well… Please, allow me to eat a fatty meal, oh dear Brandon.”

The waitress’s face flushed with a thick red. She noted the order and hastened to leave. 

Jamie viewed the dish which was put before him soon after, smelling extremely nicely. An egg with gently shining yoke, the sausages, warm tomatoes, mushrooms, bacon, beans, and fried bread were winking at him, asking to be eaten. Jamie turned his gaze to Brandon’s plate, careful not to show any sharp emotion. For himself Brandon ordered pasta with chopped tomatoes and arugula, dressed in greek yogurt. 

“You decided to become thinner,” Jamie commented, making sure to wear an encouraging smile. “I’m glad that you set up goals, darling.”

He returned to his dish, vaguely estimating how long it would take for him to eat everything. There were many different kinds of food — each demanded a particular approach. Jamie had to play a lot for transferring each piece into his mouth. He liked playing.

Brandon smiled in reply. He really planned to put himself in a nicer shape. The feeling of hunger wasn’t inspiring for him anymore, but today he couldn’t think about food anyway, too excited with the changes in his life. 

He came to his flat in the evening, to meet with Sissy and tell her the news. The police had finally found the suspects in the case of that brutal attack. Brandon and Jamie had been invited to the confrontation today and they did recognize the attackers. It was a huge relief but not the main thing Brandon was going to tell. 

“I prepared something,” he shakily announced to Sissy, frozen at the kitchen table. “I’d bought it in the morning but I… kind of knew that I wouldn’t show it to Jamie today — wouldn’t have courage. I feel I should wait for the right moment.”

He put a small plush box on the table and slowly opened it, revealing a pair of nice rings from the pale gold. Sissy gasped at the sight. Knowing her, Brandon had anticipated any reaction, even an inadequate one, but she only blinked away the tears and croaked,

“I’m so happy you have found him.”


End file.
